On The Verge of Silence
by The Kara Sea
Summary: What if we knew everything that happened in Fiske Cahill's life? From the big party events to the small sibling events. And what if there was more to him than shy? A bright kid lost on his way to regret. The story of Fiske Cahill during 1945 & 2008.


**Chapter One -**  
_**Siblings Connect**_

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No"

Sixteen-year-old Grace Cahill sighed and shook her head. She needed to try harder, or she won't get anywhere, other than saying one word the whole time until she had to leave. She tried one more time. "Yes. Fiske, you can't go your whole life without going to school."

"I'll go tomorrow," her brother mumbled quietly. "It's my second day, it will be okay. No one will get mad."

They were talking about Fiske Cahill's second day of school, who was too painfully shy to talk to anyone but his family. He missed the first day of school, and stayed home with his father while everyone else was off to studying. Beatrice, Fiske's eighteen-year-old sister, was in university, and Grace was still in school. Fiske was born into a wealthy family, but his mother died shortly after his birth and his father spent a great deal of time traveling. Yesterday wasn't one of them. Neither was today.

"I'm mad," Grace muttered. She thought Fiske didn't quite catch that, – there was only so much a four-year-old could do – but when she looked at him, he had a sad but innocent look on his face. Grace suddenly felt a wave of sympathy, and reached out for him. She picked him up, and carried him in her arms. "I'm not mad, but you have to go to school. It's a good thing."

"Why is it good?" He asked in a small voice.

"You'll learn great things, and meet new people. You might even be less shy," Grace told him. But he just looked down and didn't reply.  
She sighed, put him down on the couch, leaving him to his thoughts, and walked to her father's room on the second floor. There she saw her father, James Cahill, arranging plans for tonight. James saw his daughter's worried look, and stopped what he was doing.

"Didn't work?" He asked.

Grace shook her head. "What are we going to do? He has to learn to be less shy."

James took a moment to think, and then it hit him. "I have an idea, but I'm not sure if it'll work."

He walked past her, and Grace followed. They walked out of his room, went back to the first floor, and stopped in front of Fiske who was sitting quietly where Grace left him.

When Fiske looked up, he instantly got nervous, and then he saw Grace with his father, making him a little less tense. Fiske wasn't close to his father—he raised by Grace, 12 years his elder—and felt like a complete disappointment. Whenever James was in town, he hosted these huge parties for all his international friends—which he's having tonight. He insisted that the children mingle with the guests, which terrified Fiske because he was shy. He hated having to talk to strangers all the time.

"Fiske," his father said slowly, "if you don't want to go to school, I'll let you have a tutor. But you have to promise me you're going to learn."  
Fiske nodded.

James smiled, patted him on the head, and left to arrange a tutor for him. Little did they know that that was going to be one of the biggest mistakes of their lives.

Grace smiled. "I have to go to school, but don't be scared to talk to people at the party tonight." She picked up her bag, and walked to where Beatrice was waiting for her.

"Could you be any slower?" Beatrice asked annoyed. She opened the door and stepped outside, Grace closing it behind her.

"Sorry, I was just encouraging our brother," Grace apologized as they walked together to school.

"For what?"

"The party dad's having tonight," she replied.

Beatrice laughed, "There's no way you could get him to stay for even 5 seconds."

"At least I'm trying. He's never going to have a normal childhood if he stays this shy, Beatrice!" Grace explained.

"Grace, just let dad handle it," Beatrice suggested.

"He's not close to dad, how is he supposed to do that?"

"Exactly, if you let dad handle it, Fiske might be able to get closer to him. You know, it's because you raised him that he's not close to dad."

"Well dad needed help since mom died, so I offered. Anyways, it was fun raising such an adorable kid."

"Well you helped a bit to much," Beatrice said.

Grace sighed and shook her head, _she just doesn't understand.

* * *

_

Fiske was painting in his room. He wasn't the best, but he just liked the feeling of holding a paintbrush and creating a picture with it. The brush moved lightly across the paper, and the paint followed right after. The paintbrush was old and worn out, dry paint stuck to it and the fibre started to split, but it was his only. Grace told him he was gifted, but he wouldn't believe her.

"Done," he muttered to himself.

Fiske looked at the canvas he painted on, a simple landscape. A tree and a hill in the background, painted all in black. Another hill in the middle ground with more tress at the summit, painted in a dark green. In the foreground was a house planted firmly on flat ground, painted a nice light green. Finally, in the middle was the sun setting in the night sky.

Fiske was trying to enjoy all the time he had before the tutor came—if his dad found one that would come on such short notice. Just then, his father opened the door and Fiske let out gasp.

"Okay Fiske, I got you a tutor. She's coming in an hour, good luck," James said.

"Thanks," Fiske said in that same quiet voice.

James smiled and left.

* * *

Fiske looked at the painting one more time and noticed he missed a spot. He dipped the brush in the paint and pressed the top of the brush onto the canvas. But when he did the fibre completely split apart, making it difficult to be put back together. But Fiske didn't bother to fix it, he new when a brush was finished.

He got up and walked out of his room to where his father was making phone calls. James looked up giving him his full attention.

"My paintbrush is broken," Fiske said holding it in front of his face.

James gently took it from his hands and studied it carefully. "It's all right. We could get a new one."

"Okay," Fiske said, walking back to his room.

James sighed as he watched his son walk away quietly.

_That wasn't even a conversation_, he thought.

His four-year-old son and himself didn't have a close relationship; they just didn't understand each other.

_If only his mother were alive,_ James wondered. _Would he be more outgoing and happy? Would he act differently? _James let the subject go and put all his attention back to his party plans. Fiske already put away his painting and was in the middle of a book. He was reading for an hour since he came back from his father's room.

* * *

Reading was one of the few things Fiske enjoyed, after painting. He was getting more excited with the book by the minute—even though you couldn't tell.

When he flipped the page to the thirty-eighth page, a knock was heard, which startled him. He heard his father run downstairs, greet a woman, and ask her to come inside.

Fiske closed the book he was reading and crawled to the door, putting an ear against it.

"Yes, he's right this way," James said. His voice level was increasing and his footsteps became louder.

Soon Fiske realized they were walking towards his room and he quickly parted from the door, just in time too. The door opened revealing a woman about twenty-five years old, who had brown hair tied into a ponytail and brown eyes. His dad standing next to her.

"Fiske, this is your tutor," James said.

She smiled and walked over to him. "Hi, I'm Eliza Netherfield." Eliza put her hand out for him to shake. He studied it for a while and then took it.  
"So where do you want to study?" she asked. Fiske mumbled something Eliza couldn't quite catch. "Pardon?"

"Living Room," Fiske replied.

She nodded and lifted an eyebrow at James. "Is he always this shy?"

"Yes," James sighed, and Eliza nodded.

They all walked downstairs, to the living room and settled all their stuff there.

"I guess I'll leave you two alone," James said and left the room.

Fiske watched as his father walked away. He felt even more nervous being left alone with a complete stranger.

Fiske frowned and wanted to tell him to come back, but he was already gone. _Daddy don't leave…_ Was the only thing he could think about. This time he actually wanted his dad to be there, but James was so used to leaving Fiske to his privacy… He hadn't even thought about it.

"Ready to begin?" Eliza asked Fiske.

After hours of reading and writing, they were both worn out. She was very impressed with the four-year-old, though it was difficult to understand anything he was saying. He wouldn't look her in the eye and he often mumbled his answers. She hasn't met anyone so shy in her life, though she also hasn't met anyone so bright at a young age.

Before Eliza left, she asked Fiske to read a book fit for a third grader. He was still reading it until he heard the doorknob twisting and turning. The door flew open and he saw Beatrice and Grace walk in. Beatrice flung her bag next to the couch and Grace put hers down a little more gently.

"Grace, Beatrice, is that you?" James called out from the second floor.

"Yes." The girls called out in unison.

"Okay, great! Could you two help clean up the place?" James requested. "The guests are coming in a couple of hours."

"Should we finish cooking the food and place them on the tables?" Grace offered.

"Hey! Speak for yourself!" Beatrice cried.

"That would be great! Thanks you two," James said.

Beatrice glared at Grace, and she smiled sheepishly.

They got to work right away, dusting and wiping with a cloth. Putting away items in their rightful position, making sure it looked presentable for the guests.

The two sisters finished cooking the rest of the food and placed it on the dinner table, coffee tables, and the other tables.  
Fiske was watching them turn the messy living room into a room that he didn't recognize. He was also trying to say "hi" several times, but they failed to hear a word he said. He got annoyed and tried one last time.

"Hi," he said a little irritated but in a normal voice level. It was pretty loud for someone who always talks very quietly.  
Grace and Beatrice stopped what they were doing while their heads shot up, astonished looks on both their faces.

"Did you just…" Beatrice said slowly, and Fiske smiled widely.

Grace dropped her broom and Beatrice put down the bowl of food in her hands, running toward their youngest sibling. Grace reached out to Fiske and picked him up.

"I can't believe you actually—" Grace started.

"What's going on?" James called, walking downstairs.

"Dad, Fiske knows how to smile widely!" Beatrice exclaimed. "And he also spoke in a normal voice level."

When James finally reached the bottom of the stairs, he ran towards his kids. "No way, what did he say?"

"He said, _hi_," Grace answered.

James looked at his son; Fiske was still smiling in Grace's arms. James didn't was speechless, he wasn't sure how to react when his son achieved something that was barely even an achievement for others. "Good job son, we are all very proud of you."

"Thanks," Fiske said, back to his usual tone of voice. He actually felt happy hearing that from his father, maybe he wasn't a disappointment after all.

"Well then, I think we should all get ready for the party," Grace suggested.

"Are you guys done with the food?" James questioned.

"Yes," Beatrice said, putting away the broom Grace dropped and displaying the last of the food.

"Great," James said, heading toward the stairs. "I'm going to finish up on the second floor. If any guest come, don't let them upstairs."

When he was gone, Fiske relaxed in Grace's arms and suddenly tensed up again, the doorbell rang. His smile faded at this and he wanted to leave but Grace was still carrying him. The worse part was she was the one headed for the door.

When Grace opened the door, she greeted a few people he didn't recognize. He assumed they were here for the party, since they looked like they were ready to socialize.


End file.
